


Say Something

by clarinetchica



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cheating, Comfort, Divorce, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Virgin Sherlock, mary is terrible to john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3442199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarinetchica/pseuds/clarinetchica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary has betrayed John one too many times. Maybe it's just time to go home. Can Sherlock help John learn how to trust again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter has a (very) brief mention of rape. As always, thanks to the lovely MrsNoggin for being a fantastic beta. 
> 
> Title taken from the song "Say Something" By A Great Big World

John walked through the door, weariness in every line of his body. It had been a particularly rough day at work, and he wanted nothing more than a cuppa and to relax with his wife. The look on Mary’s face, though, brought him up short.

  
“What’s wrong, love?” he asked, concerned. Mary was curled up on the couch, eyes red from crying.

“Sit down, John. There’s something we need to talk about.”

He sank down next to her, worry forming a tight knot in his stomach. “What’s going on?”

“The baby…” she began, trailing off as she tried to collect herself. “It’s not yours.”

Whatever John had imagined Mary would say, it was not this. This was far worse. He sat quietly, feeling sick. Had he not been attentive? Was he simply not enough for her anymore? Had he driven her away with his friendship with Sherlock? He knew that their relationship was not always easy to understand, but Mary had always said that she accepted it.

“That’s not funny,” he said finally. This had to be some sort of sick joke. There was no way he deserved this.

“I know it’s not funny. But it’s true.”

John fell back against the arm of the sofa, trying to absorb the information. He wished he could have felt completely surprised, but he had known that something was coming between them. He had thought Mary’s moodiness was simply her hormones out of balance from pregnancy, but maybe he had been completely off the mark.

“How do you know?” John leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees, refusing to look at her.

“I wasn’t sure, so I had a paternity test done.”

“How?” he was genuinely surprised. John knew you needed to have either a blood or saliva sample for that kind of test, and he was sure he’d have remembered giving either of those.

“I… I drugged you.”

John felt that Mary sounded far too calm for that particular statement. He looked over at her, and found himself unsurprised by the look on her face- she seemed unaffected by the declaration that she had dosed him. Deep down, he had never completely trusted her after the incident with Magnussen, as much as he had tried to. It was strangely fitting that she was living up to the fear he had thought buried last Christmas, when he had attempted to accepted her for who she was.

“What?” Something in John snapped as he observed her demeanor.

“Sherlock…” she trailed off.

“What did he do?” His voice was dangerous as he asked the question.

“Nothing,” she admitted quietly. “But the story of Baskerville, how he drugged your coffee. It showed how easy it could be done.”

“So you drugged my coffee to get a sample?”

“Your tea. It was a simple matter of adding some sleeping pills one evening. I needed a saliva sample, and it was the only way to get one without you asking questions I didn’t want you asking.”

“I see,” John said, feeling completely numb. He sat in silence for a few moments, trying to get a grip on his thoughts. “Who is it?”

“John.” Mary placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please…”

“Who is it?” he repeated, pulling Mary’s hand off of him.

“Charles.”

“Magnussen?” he whispered, hardly believing what he was hearing.

“Yes.” Mary stared at her hands, folded in her lap.

“Did he,” John swallowed, murder developing in his heart. “Did he rape you? Please don’t lie.”

“No, he didn’t.” She looked down at her lap. “It was consensual.”

John was reeling, what Mary had just admitted was starting to sink in. His whole world had been turned upside down with this single conversation. John’s emotions felt ripped in two. On one had he was incredibly relieved she hadn’t been raped, but on the other he was incredibly angry at her infidelity. The combination made him feel incredibly guilty, but he pushed that aside to be dealt with at another time. Preferably a time where his emotions weren’t so _incredibly_ raw.

“Consensual,” he said, betrayal filling his mind. She had cheated on him. She had cheated on him. With Magnussen. The thought circled his mind, threatening to get stuck there. He didn’t even realise he had stood up until Mary stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“John, please don’t leave me. I love you.” Mary grasped at him, trying desperately to make him stay. He turned on her, unshed tears in his eyes.

“No. You love you. And I just can’t do this anymore.” He walked to the bedroom- their bedroom- pulling out a duffel bag from the closet and throwing clothes blindly into it. Mary waddled along behind him, seeming to realize that nothing she could say would help the situation.

“John…” she trailed off, hovering in the doorway as she watched him. He ignored her, knowing that he was about to lose his temper. He didn’t want to make this any easier for her, knowing that if he started shouting she would feel more justified about cheating. Zipping up the bag, he shouldered it and patiently waited for Mary to move out of the doorway.

“Don’t leave,” she begged again.

“I just can’t do this anymore- too many lies, too much deceit. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“I’m the same person I’ve always been.”

“No,” John said, finally getting past her. “Everything has been a lie. Everything.”

“John,” she pleaded, “John, please. I’m sorry.”

“Just… stop. Stop this manipulation. Goodbye, Mary.” He slammed the door, and headed to the one place he could really call home.


	2. I'm Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John heads to the one place he can call home anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to MrsNoggin for being a fantastic beta. Title taken from the song "Coming Home" by Skylar Grey

John walked up the familiar seventeen steps, feeling older than he had in a long time.  The anger he had felt at Mary’s admission had begun to ebb as he walked, leaving betrayal and loss in its wake. Setting his bag right inside the door, he looked around, seeking out Sherlock. 

“John?” The question came from the kitchen. John knew Sherlock would have recognised the sound of him coming up the stairs, so the questions must have been one of surprise.  Well, as surprised as Sherlock could really be at anything.

“Hello,” he responded, walking toward Sherlock and whatever experiment he was working on. Standing in the doorway, he felt slightly uncomfortable as he could see the detective deducing why he was there. 

“John, what’s wrong?”

 He was surprised at the question, “You mean you don’t know?”

 “If I knew I wouldn’t have asked. I can tell it has to do with Mary, but why would that bring you here? You like to try to work your problems out rather than running from them.” The words came out in a rush, Sherlock sounding almost disappointed in himself at not being able to figure it all out.

 John stayed silent, waiting for Sherlock to figure it out.  He normally wasn’t this slow, but John knew that Sherlock sometimes struggled when it came to relationships and emotions.

 “It obviously had something to do with Mary,” he restated, “That means… it was something you couldn’t work out right away.”  Sherlock looked almost hopeful for a moment before the emotion was swept off his face. “What happened?”

 John let out an emotionless laugh, returning to the sitting room and sinking down onto the couch. Sherlock left the table and followed, sitting at the opposite end.

 “What about your experiment?” John gestured toward the kitchen.

 “It’s nothing that I can’t leave for a bit.” Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin, fully focused on John for the moment.  He sat patiently, waiting for John to explain his presence.

 “Mary and I…” he trailed off, emotion bubbling up inside. The wound was still raw, and it hurt so much. “Can I stay here for a few days?”

 Sherlock’s eyebrows came together with an almost audible snap. “You’ve never asked

to… Oh. Of course you can stay. You can stay as long as you need. You don’t need to ask, you _never_ need to ask. What happened?” he asked again.

“I just… I can’t talk about this right now.” 

“Of course,” Sherlock sounded uncomfortable, “What can I do?”

 John smiled to himself, of _course_ Sherlock was feeling awkward.  While John knew he wasn’t a sociopath as he claimed, he knew Sherlock wasn’t great at expressing emotions. And here he was, asking what he could do to help John, despite his discomfort.

“Nothing, but thank you.” He drooped, resting his forearms on his leg. He was suddenly very tired. “I think I’m just going to go to sleep.” 

“Of course.” Sherlock stood, turning back to the kitchen. “Sleep in my bed,” he offered. John had gotten rid of his old bed when he had moved in with Mary, and he wasn’t sure what exactly was left in his old bedroom.  It was possible, if unlikely, that Mrs. Hudson had rented it out to someone already. John had never really stopped to consider what would happen to his old room because, frankly, he hadn’t wanted to think about it.  The idea that someone else could be sharing the life he used to have with Sherlock brought up too many issues he didn’t want to deal with. 

 John froze, looking up at Sherlock questioningly. “Are you sure?”

 “Would I have offered if I wasn’t?”

 “Very true,” John’s gloom lifted briefly.  Sherlock was a good friend, even if he was unconventional in many aspects. “Thank you.”

 Grabbing his bag, he made for Sherlock’s room.  John marveled at the cleanliness he found- Sherlock never cared this much about the tidiness of the common rooms. He wondered if it was the seemingly small amount of time he spent in here, or if he just liked to keep his bedroom clean. John had never spent much time in Sherlock’s room before, only moments now and then to wake up the detective or grab something when asked.  There had also been the unforgettable time of getting him into bed after The Woman had drugged him. He grinned at the memory, feeling lighter than he had all day. Quickly changing into pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt, John slid under the covers.  He was awash in the comforting smell of Sherlock- a little spicy, very sweet and definitely male.  It was comforting, in a way he hadn’t expected.  Feeling more at home than he had in a long time, he sunk into the mattress, enjoying the softness.

 As tired as he was, John couldn’t seem fall asleep right away.  The conversation with Mary echoed in his mind, replaying over and over. Was it his fault somehow? Had he driven her away? Could he have prevented this by being more attentive? Tossing and turning, words struck at him- _It’s not yours, paternity test, drugged, Magnussen_.

Eventually he slept, the warmth of Sherlock surrounding him. 

<><><><><> 

            John stumbled out to the kitchen, mind intent on tea. He needed caffeine, now. Rifling through cupboards, he eventually found a clean mug and the tea. He opened the fridge, surprised when he couldn’t find the milk he always made sure they had in the flat. Suddenly, the events of the previous day crashed over him.  Bracing himself against the counter, he let himself grieve for a brief moment before shoving the emotions away.  Tea was definitely in order before dealing with everything.

 “Oh, you’re awake,” Sherlock said from the doorway.  The sound of plastic bags being set down drew his eye to Sherlock’s hands.

 “You went shopping?” he asked in disbelief.

 “You like milk with your tea. We didn’t have any.”

 John wondered briefly about the “we,” but pushed it aside as he filled the kettle.  Getting out a second mug, he set about preparing tea for both of them.  Sherlock was perched in his chair, and murmured a brief word of thanks as John set the steaming mug next to him.  They sat in silence, both deep in thought. 

 “How long are you staying?” Sherlock asked suddenly, startling John.

 “I… I don’t know.”

 “Do you want to talk about it?” he offered, sounding almost embarrassed, “Don’t feel obligated, just know that when you’re ready, I can listen. If you want.”

 John looked up at his friend. “No… yes. God, I don’t know.”

 “How bad was the fight?”

 “Not a fight, so much.”

 Sherlock sat up, peering at John. “Did I deduce incorrectly? he asked, sounding disgusted with the thought.

 “Did you know?” John asked him bluntly. He was relieved at the bewildered look on Sherlock’s face.  Yes, he knew the man could act, but there was something so panicked in that expression that he really believed it to be true. And while others may not trust the honesty of Sherlock, John realized he did trust him, even despite all of the recent strife between them. At least everything Sherlock had done had been with good intentions.

 “John, I have no idea what you are talking about.  Did I know what?”

 He sighed, steeling himself for the conversation.  “Mary… well, she… cheated on me.”

 The dark expression on Sherlock’s face was practically murderous. “I see.  But that’s not everything.”  It was half a statement and half a question.

 “No,” John admitted, “Our baby… _the_ baby…”

 “Oh,” Sherlock interrupted, and for once John was glad.  “It’s not yours.”

 John closed his eyes. He could feel the tears that had threatened yesterday begin to form. He jumped as a thin arm snaked around him, and he buried his face in Sherlock’s shoulder.  He couldn’t remember the last time they had been this close, and it was incredibly comforting.  Sherlock was never one for being physical demonstrative, but it felt strangely right to John.

 “No,” he said, voice wobbling, “the baby’s not mine.”

 “Whose?”

 “Magnussen,” John said. He could feel Sherlock stiffen at the name.

 “The bitch,” Sherlock whispered, surprising John.

 “Yeah, well…” he trailed off, finally succumbing to his emotions, trailing silently down his face. He cried silently, his frame shaking slightly as he let himself go.

 “I knew she wasn’t good enough for you,” Sherlock said, letting John sit up.

 “I love her, God, I love her.”

 “I know you do.”

 They were silent a moment before John looked at Sherlock. “You didn’t answer me, you know.” John knew that Sherlock would know what he was asking, even if it had been awhile since he had asked his initial question.  Sherlock always seemed to know what John was talking about, even if John didn’t exactly know it himself.

 Sherlock looked thoughtful briefly before shaking his head. “No, John. I did not know. Maybe I didn’t want to.”

 “That makes two of us.”

 “Would you have wanted her to keep it a secret?”

 “No,” was the quiet response, “No, I wouldn’t have wanted that.  Imagine raising a child as your own, then finding out years later that it wasn’t yours? That would have been far worse.”

 “You would have been a good father.”

 “And now I never will.” The thought stung.  He had been looking forward to having a family, and it had been taken away from him so quickly. While the idea of having a baby was initially surprising, it had been something he had wanted for a long time. And now he would never know how it could have been.

 “You don’t know that.”

 John laughed derisively. “Yeah, right.”

 “Are you moving back in?” Sherlock changed the subject.

 “Is the room upstairs still available?” he asked hesitantly.  He honestly had no idea if it had been rented out since his move.  It saddened him to realize how much he had distanced himself from the flat.  And Sherlock, if he was being honest with himself.

“Of course it is.”

“Would you mind?" 

“Of course not,” Sherlock admonished, “You’re my… best friend.” The words sounded foreign, as if he were not used to speaking them. 

“Then yes, I’d like to move back in.”

“Good.”

“Thanks, Sherlock.”

“For what?” He looked astonished.

“For being a great friend.”

“Yes, well, it only makes sense, right? And having you around again will be nice. It’s much more convenient.”

“Right.” John smiled. “Convenient.”

“Well, yes. You’ll be here for cases, and you can do the shopping again.”

“Sure.” John would agree to almost anything, if only it kept him distracted from the hollowness that tore at his insides.

“Now that that’s all sorted out, I should probably get back to my experiment.  Unless… Do you need me?” The question came out softly, as if Sherlock were unsure it would be appreciated.

“No, but thank you. I’ve got a shift at the surgery.” 

Sherlock nodded and strode off to the kitchen, leaving John to prepare for his day. 


	3. With a Little Help From My Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John moves back to Baker Street and begins to relax into his familiar old life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to MrsNoggin for being a fantastic beta. Title taken from the Beatles song "With a Little Help From My Friends"

“That’s the last of it,” Lestrade grunted, as he set down a box inside the door to 221b.

“I can’t thank you enough,” John said, peeking inside the box to check the contents. This one looked like it was more clothes.

“Really, John, It’s nothing,” Molly interjected, “We’re just helping out a friend.”

He smiled warmly at her. He hadn’t been looking forward to returning to the flat that he and Mary shared- had shared- to get the rest of his things. Greg and Molly had offered a few days ago to go sort things out for him. John knew they were good friends, but he had never quite realized how good before now. He resolved to be better to them in the future.

“Well, I owe you both a drink,” John offered.

“Sure, but not now.” Molly laughed. “I’m in desperate need of a shower.”

“Me too,” Greg agreed. “Soon, though. We’ll all go out and you can buy us that drink.”

“Thanks again,” John said as he followed the two down the stairs. They said their goodbyes, leaving John to head back upstairs and unpack.

“When did you acquire so many possessions?” Sherlock asked, rifling through a box. “I don’t recall you having many of these things when we lived together.” John knew that Sherlock had very little consideration for his privacy, but it was comforting after a marriage full of secrets and lies.

“Well, when you’re…” John swallowed, “married you have a tendency to collect things.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sherlock said drily.

“Help me carry these boxes,” John ordered, lifting one himself. He didn’t wait to see if Sherlock followed, just toted a box filled with clothes to his room. Sorting things, he quickly made piles of his clothing, tossing them haphazardly.

“Get rid of that one,” Sherlock said, making John jump. “It’s atrocious.”

“That jumper is the most comfortable one I have. I’m not sacrificing it just because you don’t like the color.” He turned to look at Sherlock, surprised at the box in his hands. He hadn’t actually thought that the detective would help without bribery.

“Still…”

“Sherlock, I swear if I find you have ‘accidentally’ dropped acid on it or something, I will be incredibly angry.”

Sherlock humphed and decended back down the stairs. Returning soon with another box of clothes, he set it right inside the door. John nodded next to him at a growing pile.

“Would you mind hanging those up?” he asked, unsure if he was asking too much. He was amazed at how patient Sherlock was being- it was so unlike him. John knew that Sherlock was trying to help him move past everything, but it was still slightly unsettling to see this new side of the detective.

“You have an appalling taste in suits,” Sherlock quipped, sounding more like himself. John wondered briefly if he had deduced the discomfort John was feeling, before realizing that he most likely had.

“There is nothing wrong with my suits.”

“Right.” Sherlock’s voice was flat, but John could sense the sarcasm behind the word.

“What would you suggest, then?”

Sherlock stepped back, focusing his full attention on John. “Something dark, but not black- charcoal or navy. A pinstripe might be nice, but it would have to be subtle. We can’t have you looking like you belong with the mob.” John shifted, feeling awkward under Sherlock’s gaze. “With a contrasting shirt… perhaps light blue, or aubergine. Definitely a more modern cut, this one looks like it’s ten years old.”

John turned back to his pile of t-shirts, folding them neatly to place in his drawers. “Yes, well, I don’t wear suits terribly often. Why should I spend a ridiculous amount of money on a suit that I won’t wear?”

Sherlock made a non-committal noise, focused on his task of organizing John’s suits and button down shirts. John finished putting his current stack of clothing away, sorting through another box.

The silence was a comfortable one as the two men stowed John’s possessions. Sherlock was insistent on indexing John’s clothing, despite his protest. John finally gave up, realizing that Sherlock was going to be stubborn and do it anyway. They soon finished unpacking John’s bedroom and moved to the books that Greg and Molly had left downstairs.

Boxes full of medical textbooks, and the mystery novels John loved were put on shelves, perched precariously among Sherlock’s collection. Opening one of the last boxes, John’s breath hitched. Hidden amongst his things was one of Mary’s books. A wave of sadness washed over him, and he took deep breaths to calm the grief that rose inside.

“What’s wrong?” Of course Sherlock would immediately notice the change in his demeanor. John picked up the book, showing it to him.

“It’s Mary’s favorite book.”

Sherlock stepped forward, gingerly plucking it from John’s fingers. “Then we don’t need it here.”

John smiled gratefully as Sherlock chucked it in the bin. “It’s hard,” he admitted, “Thinking you’re meant to spend your life with someone, only to have it all taken away in one short conversation. I guess I’m still not used to the idea.”

“I understand.” The detective said, his tone making John look at him sharply. It was sadness, he realized, mixed with regret. For what, exactly?

Changing the subject, he nodded to the two boxes that were left in the sitting room. “What’s in those?”

Sherlock opened one. “Kitchen. The second one seems to be a collection of miscellaneous things.”

John was grateful that he had some of his favorite mugs. One could never have too many when they lived with Sherlock.

“Yoo hoo!” He heard Mrs. Hudson from the doorway. “I’ve brought you some lunch. I know you’ve been busy working all day.” She set down the tray laden with food on the mostly clear coffee table. “I’m so glad to have you back, John. Things just haven’t been the same around here.”

“Thank you,” he said gratefully, suddenly realizing how hungry he was.

“The post also came, dears,” she said, handing it to Sherlock. She gave both of them a quick kiss on the cheek before retreating downstairs, leaving the two men alone. Sherlock flipped through the post frowning at a thick envelope.

“What’s up?” John asked.

Sherlock handed it over. “It’s for you.”

John was confused, he hadn’t had the chance to file his change of address forms yet. He slid his finger along the top edge and pulled out the folded papers. Sinking onto the couch, he let the letter fall from his fingers.

Sherlock picked it up, reading out loud. “Petition for divorce.”

“I-” John’s voice broke, “I didn’t think…”

“It’s for the best. Though, I do wonder how she was able to file for divorce when you haven’t been married a year yet.”

John closed his eyes in embarrassment- it was becoming hard to stay in control of his emotions. Sherlock sank down onto the couch next to him, patting his back awkwardly. John leaned into him, took a deep breath and shoved his emotions into the box in the corner of his heart.

“John, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m terrible at this. I just want you to feel better, and I have no idea what to do.”

“You’re doing just fine.”

“And here you are, reassuring me when I should be the one helping you.”

John laughed wetly, and Sherlock tightened his armbriefly, trying to comfort him.

“Did I do something to deserve this?” he asked bitterly, “Am I just that hard to love?”

“No,” Sherlock mumbled, so quietly that John almost missed it. He sat up, breaking Sherlock’s hold in order to look at the man.

“What?”

The detective looked away, cheeks flushing slightly. “You’re not hard to love. I know there’s no way you could have known this, but…” he swallowed, sounding unsure.

“Oh Sherlock, I do know. Of course I know. I’ve known since that ridiculous speech you made at my wedding.”

“Oh,” he replied, voice small. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“No, it’s all fine,” John answered, equally as quiet. Sherlock stared at him mutely, confusion apparent on his face.

“Oh.”

John would have laughed at Sherlock’s apparent speechlessness, but he was still too upset. He knew it would take time for him to move past this, but for now, there were things he needed to focus on. “Let’s eat, then finish up.”

“Not hungry.”

“Sherlock, so help me, if I have to tie you down you will eat. You’re not on a case right now, therefore the rules still apply.” He was glad to move into a more comfortable area of conversation.

“I stopped following your rules when you moved out.”

“And now I’m back, which means they apply again. Food, now.”


	4. I Dreamed A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John joins Sherlock on cases, and Mycroft makes an unexpected appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to MrsNoggin for betaing. Title taken from the song of the same name from Les Miserables.

“Are you coming?” Sherlock asked, putting on his coat.

John looked up from his chair in surprise

“Text from Lestrade,” he explained, “There’s been a string of robberies. He needs help, of course.”

“I thought you weren’t going to take on robberies.”

“Well, I have decided to take this one on.  Come _on._ ”  He practically buzzed, bouncing up and down on his toes as he waited for John. It had been two weeks without a case, not that Sherlock had been idle.  John had spent the past month chasing after Sherlock on cases, trying to prevent him from destroying the flat and antagonizing his brother.

“Look, Sherlock,” John began awkwardly as he slid into his coat, “I know what you’ve been doing. And…and I appreciate it.”

John recognized the expression on Sherlock’s face- it was the look he wore when he was trying to pull one over on someone. It used to work on John, but he had long since been able to resist Sherlock’s false charm.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“You’ve been keeping me busy, trying to make it hard for me to sit and think about… about what happened.”

“Yes, well, it makes the most sense.  I can’t have you moping around the flat.”

“Right.” John smiled, and followed Sherlock out the door.

 

<><><><><> 

 

“Hello John,” Mycroft said, walking into 221b as if he owned the place. John wasn’t surprised; the politician always seemed to have that air around him. 

“Sherlock is out.”

“I am aware of that.  I came to speak with you. The conversation will go considerably easier if he is not present for it.”

“What do you want?”  John normally wasn’t this short with Mycroft, but he had just spent three exhausting days trying to capture a team of robbers and all he wanted to do was sleep.

“I believe you are in need of a solicitor.”

John’s heart dropped.  This was not a conversation he wanted to have with Mycroft, especially right now. “Why do you care? What’s in it for you?”

“My brother is… rather fond of you,” he said, the tone of his voice told John that he knew how Sherlock felt about him. “I would like to help him, and you, even if he doesn’t wish for my assistance.”

John let out a quiet “Oh,” as he sat down on the couch.

“Of course, my solicitor will not charge you for her services.”

“I don’t need your charity,” John snapped.

“Don’t be ridiculous.  You can hardly afford her on your own,” Mycroft said.

John bristled with anger for a moment, frustrated with what he knew was the traditional Holmes way of insulting someone.  Taking a deep breath, he counted to ten as he pushed his irritation away.  He knew that Mycroft was right, and it would be foolish to refuse his offer.  “Fine,” he said, “Thank you.”

“I will have her call you to set up an appointment.”  He nodded and left without saying goodbye, swinging his umbrella.

John watched him leave, trying to relax into the couch.  Visits from Mycroft always put him on edge, and this one seemed to leave him more tense than usual.  The older Holmes had only been away for five minutes before Sherlock dashed up the stairs, halting in the doorway.

“Mycroft,” he spat.

John grunted his assent.

“Why was he here?”  The contempt in his voice was unmistakable.

“He offered the use of his solicitor.”

Sherlock stiffened. “Don’t.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” John pulled a face as he realised his echoing of Mycroft’s words. “I’m sure they’re more qualified than anyone I could afford.”

“I’ll find you someone.  Don’t let him…” Sherlock trailed off.

“Don’t let him what?”

“You’ll owe him a favour, and I’m positive whatever he has planned for you will _not_ be pleasant.”

“Planned?” John felt as if Sherlock was having a conversation that he could only hear every other sentence of.

“He _obviously_ has something he needs you for, if he is offering to do this.”

“Ah, I see.” John sat forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “ Sherlock, this will really help expedite the divorce.  I hate being stuck in this limbo- still technically married, but feeling single. It’s been a month, and it still hurts, but I want to move past this.  Having a top-notch solicitor will help.”

Sherlock muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “arse,” and flopped down on the couch.  Tucking his feet under John’s thigh, he threw an arm over his eyes, as dramatic as John had ever seen him.

They lapsed into silence, John focused on the telly while Sherlock seemed deep in thought. Only a few minutes passed before John’s head drooped forward, eyes closing briefly before he caught himself, jerking back into consciousness.

“John,” came a soft whisper from the opposite end of the couch, accompanied by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Go ‘way,” he slurred, voice clumsy with sleep.

“Go to bed, John.  You’ll regret it in the morning if you sleep on the couch.”  He was pulled to his feet and steered toward the stairs.  Stumbling into his room, he shucked his shoes and fell onto the mattress, sleep overtaking him completely.

 

<><><><><> 

 

_Sherlock lips drifted down the line of John’s jaw, peppering tiny kisses against his stubble.  His calloused fingertips tickled John’s sides as they moved lower, tracing the lines of his abdomen before settling in the crease of his hips. John arched up, silently begging Sherlock for release. He obliged, wrapping his fingers around John’s erection.  Leaning down, he pulled John’s lower lip between his own…_

John woke suddenly, his cock tenting the front of his pyjama pants. He swore to himself, trying to will his erection away, but found it impossible. He kept replaying his dream in his head, imagining what would have come next. The vision of dark curls and quicksilver eyes caused a surge of arousal downward, and he finally gave up, fingers wrapping around himself. 

Brushing his thumb over the swollen head, he bit his lip at the sensation. He imagined Sherlock with his lips wrapped around him, bobbing as his tongue pressed against the underside of his cock. It was only the work of a few minutes before his back arched off the bed, fist pumping slowly as he rode out the waves of his orgasm. He felt he should have been embarrassed at how quickly he came, but the dream had been… intense. 

John collapsed, realising that he would have to get up soon to change his come-covered pyjamas.  A wave of guilt washed over him- he definitely should not have fantasized about Sherlock. Especially considering what Sherlock had confessed to him the other day. He had no idea if Sherlock still felt that way, but even if he didn’t, it was more than a bit not good. Granted, John had known this before, but by the time he had figured it out, it was too late. He was already married with a baby on the way.  So he had pushed those feelings away, hiding from his love for Sherlock by spending his time with Mary.  John had needed to stamp down those emotions every time he had seen Sherlock, so he had distanced himself.  Lying in his bed, however, he realised how futile it had been.  A month back in 221 and he had fallen back into the familiar longing- imagining how the curls would feel threaded though his fingers, how Sherlock’s ridiculous cupid’s bow would feel pressed against his own lips, the taste of his alabaster skin.

_Fuck,_ John thought, _I’m completely head over heels._

It wasn’t a new revelation, but the strength of it left him reeling. And he couldn’t even act on his feelings.  Mary may have cheated, but it wasn’t in him to do the same thing.  They were still technically married.  And he didn’t want to start a new relationship like that. It would practically doom the thing from the beginning. That is, if Sherlock would even want a relationship. John didn’t know if Sherlock would even be interested in a relationship.  

He rolled over, glancing at the clock. 

6:47

Sighing, John rolled out of bed, shucking his damp clothing and throwing it into the laundry hamper.  There was no point in going back to bed, so he pulled on an old jumper and comfortable pair of pyjama bottoms.  He didn’t have a shift at the surgery, and he planned on spending the day relaxing.

He padded downstairs quietly, trying to make sure he didn’t wake Sherlock. Granted, usually he slept like the dead, but John didn’t want to accidentally take away from the much needed rest.

Stepping into the living room, John was assaulted by a strong scent permeating the air. He was fairly sure it was bacon. Had Mrs. Hudson come up to prepare breakfast?  John stepped into the kitchen and froze.  A pyjama clad Sherlock stood in front of the stove, monitoring a pan of sizzling bacon. John hadn’t expected to see him so soon after his… session.  Sherlock would probably read it on his face. He schooled his expression, trying to hide his emotions deep inside.

“What are you doing?” John had thought that Sherlock didn’t know how to cook, but apparently the assumption had been completely wrong.

“Making breakfast,” Sherlock explained, the tone in his voice conveying his annoyance at the question. “I should think that would be obvious.”

“Why?”

Sherlock threw John an exasperated look over his shoulder before turning back to the food.  “You like breakfast.”

“Oh,” John felt stupid, reduced to one word responses.  He was just so surprised at Sherlock’s behavior. John slid into a seat at the kitchen table.  Sherlock had moved all the science equipment to one end, leaving two chairs with a bit of space to actually eat.  The detective set a plate down in front of John and joined him at the table.

“We don’t have any brown sauce.  And the toast may be a bit burnt, but we’re now out of bread and I know you like it toasted.”

John looked down at the food in front of him.  The toast was definitely crispy around the edge, and the bacon was slightly undercooked, but he tucked in anyway.  There was no way he wasn’t going to eat this, considering how thoughtful this was, especially for Sherlock.  The man _never_ ate without John pestering him, and here he was making breakfast.

“It’s good,” he said, mouth full of dry sandwich.

“No, it’s not, but thank you.”

They ate slowly, enjoying each other’s company.  It was a rare occurrence that they were able to just be with each other without one of them having to rush off. John savored the quiet moment, relaxing in the warmth of their friendship.  The ring of John’s cell broke the comfortable silence. Not recognizing the number, he answered.

“Hello?”

“John Watson?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Alanna Crowley’s assistant.  Mr. Holmes asked me to phone you to set up an appointment to discuss your pending divorce.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“Would tomorrow at two work for you at her office?”

“Sure. Um, where _is_ her office?” John was impressed at how quickly he was able to get in to see the solicitor. Usually it took weeks. He supposed this was Mycroft’s influence again.

“We are located on New Bridge street. Please bring all paperwork pertaining to your case.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” John said before Ms. Crowley’s assistant hung up. He returned to the kitchen, but his appetite had gone, leaving an empty hole in its place.  John noticed Sherlock staring at him, probably deducing everything about the call and how it made John feel.

“It’s completely normal to feel conflicted about this,” Sherlock offered.

“It’s not that I’m conflicted,” John replied, “I _want_ to put this behind me.  It’s just… a difficult change.  I _thought_ Mary was all that I wanted, and deep down I think I knew it wasn’t everything, but I had longed for that kind of stability since my last tour.”

“Explain, please.”

John took a deep breath.  He knew what he wanted to say- that he had fallen, again, for Sherlock, but it didn’t seem the right time. He wanted to take the genius’ head between his hands and caress Sherlock’s lips with his own, to take him, to twist his fingers through his dark curls, guiding the kiss and leaving both men weak at the knees. But he couldn’t do it. The guilt that would come with that action would be unbearable, especially if the amount of guilt coming from simply fantasizing about his flatmate made him feel this bad.

Sherlock made a questioning sound, bringing John back to the present. Apparently he had taken too long to answer the question, and Sherlock’s eyes were focused intently on his face. _Fuck_ , John thought, _he’s probably figured all that out already._

“When I was with Mary, I was happy.  I loved her. But there was always something missing. I don’t know if a baby would have brought something to our marriage, and now I never will. But deep down, those months I spent away from here,” he swept his arm out in a grand gesture to indicate the flat, “I missed it.  Chasing after criminals, watching you figure things out at the crime scenes, the captures.”

“Oh.” For once it seemed Sherlock had nothing to say to such an intense statement.  John felt deflated, despite keeping his outward appearance calm. He had practically admitted to Sherlock that his feelings were reciprocated, and all John had gotten in response was a one-syllable noise.

“Right, well, thank you for breakfast.”  The words sounded awkward in the sudden quiet of the flat. John turned into the sitting room, grabbing the newspaper and hiding behind it.  He could feel Sherlock’s gaze on him, be he ignored it, scanning the pages, but not really reading any of the articles.  Mentally berating himself, John was thinking about a way to escape when Sherlock’s phone beeped. 

“It’s Lestrade,” he exclaimed, jumping up, “We have a case!”

“Already?” John moaned, but he still followed, sliding into the jacket Sherlock held for him.  He followed the detective out the door, smiling. _This_ was the life he wanted.


	5. Best Damn Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally meets with a divorce barrister and puts a huge part of his life behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to MrsNoggin for being an awesome beta this chapter wouldn't have been the same without her. Chapter title taken from the Barenaked Ladies song of the same name

“Mr. Watson, so nice to meet you,” the woman said, coming from behind her desk and extending a hand. She was tall and thin, with red hair pulled up into a severe bun. John was struck by how young she was, but he knew that Mycroft would have sent him to the best, no matter their age. She was dressed professionally- her pencil skirt and blazer were offset by a teal top. Minimal makeup graced her features, not that she needed it. She was one of the prettiest women he had seen in a long time. He briefly considered trying to get her phone number before deciding that the idea was more than a bit not good. John couldn’t in good conscience flirt with someone when his heart belonged to someone else.

“Ms. Crowley.” John nodded and took the proffered hand. “Thank you for agreeing to take my case.”

“Of course. You must thank Mr. Holmes, as well, however. He was adamant that I offer you my assistance.”

John shifted in his seat as he thought about the implications of Mycroft’s involvement, but brushed them away. He knew that he needed his help, and hopefully the repayment of the favour would not be too bad.

“Now, there may be some difficulties with your case. You were married less than a year, which means that divorce proceedings must be handled with care. Usually, petitions for marriages of such short duration are not allowed, but Mr. Holmes has taken care of that for you. Unless the marriage was not consummated?”

“No… I mean… yes, it was consummated,” John said, uncomfortable discussing his sex life with a stranger.

“Of course. Then Mr. Holmes will ensure that proceedings may continue. What are the grounds for divorce?”

“She cheated.”

“Adultery.” She wrote something down in a file John could not quite see from his seat across the desk. “I see. And did you live with each other after the adultery was discovered?”

“No, I moved out immediately. She filed for divorce the following week.”

“She filed?” Ms. Crowley sounded surprised.

“Yes.”

“Well, that makes it considerably easier for us.”

“How so?”

“It shows that both parties want this, and it will go uncontested.”

“I’m not sure…” John trailed off, not wanting to explain how Mary had begged him to stay.

“Whether or not she actually wants divorce is irrelevant.” Ms. Crowley had obviously understood what John had meant without him actually saying it. “But the fact that she filed a petition will show that she wants it in the judge’s eyes.”

“Judge?”

“Yes, this will have to go before a judge before it’s finalized. Now, we need to talk about splitting possessions.”

“She can have everything. I don’t want any of it.”

“I would advise against that.”

“I really don’t want anything that…” He swallowed, emotion a thick knot in his throat. “I don’t want anything that was ours.”

“All right. Are any of your possessions still in the flat that you shared?”

“No, I don’t believe so. Everything I need is at my current address.”

They moved to other topics, going over everything Ms. Crowley would need to complete the petition for divorce. The meeting seemed to take forever in John’s eyes, he just wanted to get out of there and have this whole mess behind him.

“I believe that is all the information I need from you right now.”

John breathed an internal sigh of relief. “Thank you very much.”

“I will call you when the next step is finalized.”

* * *

 

 

It had been two months, and the divorced was completely settled. John had spent the time stuck in limbo- having fallen for Sherlock a long time ago, but not able to do anything about it. Well, he supposed he could have done something about it, but he hadn’t wanted to discuss anything until his separation from Mary was complete.

“Sherlock, we need to talk.”

The detective hummed in response as he continued to face the back of the couch.

“Turn around, please.”

“John, whatever you have to say can be said to my back.”

“You certainly are stroppy today. Turn around, now.” John put a bit of his old army voice in the order- it was one of the only ways to get Sherlock to respond immediately. And if he knew that it turned Sherlock on, he decidedly did not think about that. Sherlock flipped around, letting out a small “humph,” and refusing to meet John’s eyes.

“First, what’s wrong?”

“I’m bored.” He pouted. “The criminal element of London seems to be taking the week off. I can practically feel my abilities deteriorating.”

“You are not deteriorating.”

“Like you would know.”

“I’m not going to sit here while you throw insults at me.”

“Then go.” Sherlock waved a hand dismissingly.

“Not until I say my piece.” John paused for a moment before continuing. “Ah, here’s a solution. Deduce.”

He sat up, focusing his full attention on John. The doctor shifted uncomfortably, suddenly terrified of Sherlock’s reaction. He wrinkled his nose, and John’s heart sunk.

“You’re going back to work at the surgery.”

“Sherlock, I’ve been working at the surgery. I never stopped.”

“Ah, well that explains things, then.”

“Where did you think I was going during the day?” he asked, his apprehension momentarily pushed aside.

“Doesn’t matter. But that’s not why you wanted to talk to me.”

“Correct.”

John’s discomfort returned as Sherlock stared, who was obviously becoming more frustrated as the minutes ticked by. Suddenly the detective’s face dropped.

“Don’t go back to her,” he said, quietly.

“For God’s sake, Sherlock. No!” John was becoming exasperated with Sherlock’s inability to see what was in front of him.

“What, then? I’m in no mood for this today.”

“The great Sherlock Holmes, not in the mood to utilize his mind? Let me find the calendar so I can mark this down.”

“Shut up,” he said, turning so his back faced John again.

“Sherlock, look at me and deduce.”

“No.”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, turn your lazy arse around and figure it out.”

Sherlock turned back over, sitting up to peer at John.

“You’re apprehensive, which is unlike you. You’re nervous as to how I’m going to take whatever information you feel you need to impart to me. You changed after work- into your ‘date’ clothes. You’ve found someone.”

John cleared his throat. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

“What does it matter? You’re just going to grow bored. She’s simply a replacement for Mary.”

“Not ‘she’,” John said. His heart pounded in his throat as he waited for Sherlock respond.

“Oh.” Sherlock said, voice flat.

John took a deep breath before continuing. Sherlock was beginning to try his patience. “You.”

Sherlock sat up suddenly, upsetting the blanket that was covering him. “That’s not funny. Not when you know… what you know.”

“I’m not being funny. I’m standing here, telling you that I have feelings for you.”

Sherlock blinked at John.

“Say something. Just… anything. Sherlock?”

“John, while I… appreciate that you may think you have feelings for me, I’m sure you are in actuality just suffering from relief that the divorce proceedings are over.”

“Damn it, Sherlock, this isn’t a rebound. Look, I’ve had feelings for you for a while, but I didn’t want to act on them until this whole thing with Mary was behind me. Now that I’m finally free of her, I would like to pursue… something with you. If you’d like to.” John clasped his hands behind him, worried about what Sherlock would say.

“Not interested,” Sherlock said, brushing John off again.

"For fuck's sake, Sherlock, I'm not something to be pushed away." He let out an anguished cry when Sherlock turned away from him for a third time. John knew this would be difficult, but he hadn’t planned on the detective’s defenses being quite so high. Striding around the coffee table, John grabbed him by the shoulders, turning his torso so he faced the ceiling. He bent down, gently pressing his lips against Sherlock’s own. There was a moment of panic as Sherlock lay there, frozen. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Sherlock’s hands came up to fist in John’s jumper, pulling him closer. John broke away, locking his eyes with Sherlock’s gray ones.

“Look, genius, you’re being incredibly thick right now. I have feelings for you, and you have feelings for me. Deny it all you like, but I know how you feel about me. And I think we should do something about this. I’m sick of dancing around you, waiting for you to come to your senses and realize that I feel the same way.”

Sherlock looked at John, his expression betraying his emotions- confused and hopeful at the same time.

“John, I’m not… I’m not sure this is something we should explore.”

John’s heart plummeted. He had not expected this. “But, Sherlock…. You know how I feel about you now.”

“Yes, and I appreciate that, but I’m not ready to be used and tossed aside like the rest of your relationships.”

“You think that’s what I’m going to do? Sherlock, I have cared about you for years, but I’ve been too afraid to act on it. I’m done with being afraid, I’m done with being careful, and I’m done with pretending I want anything else but you.”

“Oh.” Sherlock blinked at John for a moment before continuing, “Well, I suppose I’d be willing to attempt….”

John bent down, lightly cupping Sherlock’s jaw in his hands. They kissed, just a quick brush of their lips. Sherlock reached up to tangle his fingers in John’s short hair, bringing his mouth back up. What began as something chaste quickly turned something else entirely. His tongue darted out to brush against Sherlock’s full lower lip, gently enticing the younger man to open his mouth. John’s heart pounded, the reality of his dreams was turning out to be so much more than he could have imagined. He tasted of tea and honey and man and something so completely Sherlock that it made John weak at the knees. Uncomfortable with standing half bent, he crawled onto the couch, straddling the younger man.

“I love you,” Sherlock said. Confusion and horror were suddenly written on his face, as if the words had escaped without his consent. “I mean… I suppose I do have feelings…”

“I love you, too, you idiot,” John replied, with a huge grin on his face.

“Then I suppose we should try this relationship thing. But I warn you- once this starts, I’ll never let you go. I’ll consume you.”

“You act like you haven’t done that already.”

Sherlock broke out into a true grin- one that made his eyes crinkle. One that he reserved for John alone.

“Kiss me again,” he ordered.

“Sherlock….” John warned, not liking his tone.

“Please?” he amended.

John leaned down, possessing Sherlock’s mouth, moving with more confidence than that initial kiss. Sherlock threw his head back as John’s lips drifted, trailing down the side of his cheek, the long expanse of his throat, finally resting on the soft skin below his ear. Worrying at the flesh there, he flicked his tongue, making Sherlock moan. His skin tasted of salt and soap, and the scent of his aftershave permeated John’s nose. The entire effect was intoxicating, leaving John wanting more. He made his way back to Sherlock’s mouth, scraping his teeth along his full lower lip.

“Does this mean you’ll let me take you out on a proper date?” John panted as they came up for air.

“Haven’t we been on several already?”

John paused, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Describe a date,” Sherlock said, sounding far too patient.

“Well, you go out for dinner. Or maybe coffee. Sometimes to the cinema.”

“Haven’t we done all of that already?”

“Yes, but… they still weren’t dates.”

“Weren’t they?”

“No,” John said decisively. “Both parties must know it’s a date before it officially is one.”

“I see. Well, yes, we can go on a proper date. But not to the cinema- most of those films you insist on me watching are incredibly dull.”

“Only most?”

“Well, I did enjoy that one with the pirate.”

John just laughed and leaned down for another kiss.


	6. Give Me Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock takes John out on a proper date and things ensue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to MrsNoggin for being a lovely beta. Chapter title taken from the Ed Sheeran song of the same name.

“Sherlock?”  John called down the stairs.  He knew the detective was on the couch, presumably deep in thought.  He sighed when he didn’t receive a response, but he wasn’t surprised.  “Why is there a suit hanging in my closet?”  he asked, entering the living room.

“You have several suits, John.  To which one are you referring?”

“You know damn well which one I’m talking about. The one that wasn’t there yesterday.”

“Oh, that one. You mentioned going on a ‘proper date.’ I thought we’d give it a try tonight.”

“I see.  And what did you have planned?”

“I made reservations at The Chiltern Firehouse.”

“The Chiltern Firehouse _?_ Shit, I really will need the suit.”

“That was the plan,” Sherlock replied.

“Well, if we’re going out tonight, I’m going to jump in the shower.”   John didn’t wait for an answer- he knew he would be waiting for a long time if he expected a response from Sherlock.

<><><><><> 

They barely made it through the door before Sherlock pressed John against the wall, attacking him with his mouth. His hands were everywhere at once, and John had a distinct feeling of being snogged by an octopus. A very attractive octopus. Sherlock brushed his tongue against John’s lower lip, and he yielded, opening his mouth for the detective. Sherlock did something with his tongue, twisting it around John’s, which sent a shock of arousal through him. Even though they hadn’t progressed past some truly fantastic snogging over the last few days, the combination of red wine and garlic and something almost dangerous never failed to turn John on.

Sherlock pressed a line of kisses along John’s jaw, nipping gently at the sensitive shell of his ear.

“As much as I don’t want to stop, I don’t fancy Mrs. Hudson finding us here,” John pointed out, his voice breathy.

“Don’t care,” Sherlock growled, “Want you now.”

“Upstairs,” John ordered, putting a touch of the old army captain in his voice. Without waiting for the detective to answer, he pulled away.  He only made it up three stairs before Sherlock caught up, wrapping his arms around him. It took all of John’s resolve to not turn around on the spot, because he knew if he did, there would be no stopping either of them.  Lips trailed down the back of his neck, causing a shiver to rush through John. The shiver only intensified as Sherlock grabbed his cock through his trousers.

“Upstairs,” he repeated. “Now, if you please.”

Sherlock grumbled, but acquiesced, taking the stairs two at a time.  John hurried up after him, ready to continue what they had already started.

They fell onto the sofa, John peppering kisses along Sherlock’s jaw.  Sherlock threw his head back against the pillow, exposing an expanse of neck that John could not resist. John was almost tempted to leave his mark there, but he wasn’t sure how Sherlock would react.

“It’s fine,” Sherlock said, seeming to read John’s mind. “I can always wear my scarf when in public. “

It was almost disconcerting, being with someone who was so finely attuned to John’s every thought. He knew what he was getting into with this relationship with Sherlock, but experiencing it was something else entirely.  John mentally shook his head, briefly wondering why he was thinking of such things when he had a gorgeous man underneath him.  John sucked at Sherlock’s neck, leaving a mark that would declare their relationship to the world. Sherlock shifted suddenly, pressing his thigh between John’s, his burgeoning erection brushing against the doctor’s hip.

“Wait,” John gasped.

“No,” Sherlock said, nipping at the older man’s bottom lip. “No more waiting….Unless, of course, you’re serious?” There was a distinct note of alarm in his voice, as if he were unsure of John’s feelings. 

“Look, Sherlock. Up until tonight, I thought you were a virgin.  Finding out that you know what you’re doing is…”

“John,” Sherlock interrupted, “I _am_ a virgin.”

He swallowed thickly. The thought of, well, deflowering Sherlock should not have produced such a surge of arousal. “Ah… I, um… I see.”

“I would like you to take my virginity,” he added softly.

“Fuck,” John whispered.

“Please.”

“Yes, god yes.”

Sherlock smiled shyly, fingers brushing against the soft skin of John’s lower back. 

“No.” John pulled away slightly. “Your first time will not be on the couch.”

“John, really,” Sherlock scoffed.

“No.  It will be in a proper bed.  Up.”  John stood, putting his hand in Sherlock’s and levering him off the couch.  He pushed Sherlock toward his bedroom, taking the chance to gaze appreciatively at the detective’s lush bottom. 

“Stop staring at me and come on,” Sherlock said impatiently. 

“Yes, yes. Just admiring you.”

“Well, admire closer.”

Laughing, John entered the bedroom to find Sherlock perched awkwardly on the edge of his bed. Gone was the bravado of the sitting room, replaced with uncertainty.  John straddled his lap, fingers gently undoing the buttons of his aubergine shirt.  Sherlock looked away, cheeks darkening in a miniscule blush.

“Hey,” John said, hands abandoning their task and cupping Sherlock’s jaw gently.  “Do you trust me?”

“That’s hardly relevant.”

“Bullshit it is. Do you trust me to do this for you?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me. Don’t shy away.”

Sherlock bit his bottom lip, staring wide-eyed at John before nodding slightly.  John grinned, a hungry look in his eye and shifted slightly, leading him to lie down on the bed.  John’s fingers returned to their previous task, divesting Sherlock of his shirt before pressing kisses down his throat, his sternum, across a collarbone. His lips drifted, finding their mark as they latched around one dark nipple.  Sherlock arched his back, a moan escaping briefly before being bit off.

“Don’t hold back, Sherlock.”

“It’s undignified.”

John smiled against Sherlock’s chest, only he would find expressing himself during sex undignified. “Please, don’t stifle yourself.  It’s how I know you’re enjoying this- it’s my data.”

“That’s a dirty trick, trying to appeal to my scientific nature.”

“Is it working?”

“Yes,” he said sullenly.

“Good.”  John worked his way down Sherlock’s alabaster chest, sucking at one sharp hipbone before kissing along the waistband of his trousers. His fingers deftly unbuttoned them, stripping Sherlock bare.  He sat back, savoring the sight of Sherlock’s very erect cock- his impressiveness was more of length than girth. John could only imagine what it would feel like slamming into him, mercilessly brushing against his prostate.  The thought only made him harder, and he reached down to his jeans, releasing his own erection. 

John licked his lips as he wrapped one hand around Sherlock, pumping gently just once.  He looked up to see the detective propped up on his elbows, watching him closely, eyes dark with lust.  Keeping his eyes locked on Sherlock’s, John licked a line from the base to the tip of his cock.  Sherlock moaned, throwing his head back as John wrapped his lips around his erection, bobbing slightly. He could feel a slight swelling of the tissue as Sherlock came closer to the edge, fisting his hands in the duvet.

“Fuck, Jo-” the name was bit off as Sherlock succumbed to his orgasm, legs clamping around John’s shoulders. He coaxed Sherlock through the aftershocks, gently bringing him down from the endorphin high.

“Fuck,” Sherlock said lethargically.

“I believe that was already mentioned,” John grinned.  He could tell Sherlock wasn’t quite back to reality; he was still relaxing boneless into the soft mattress.  John reached down to his own erection, but stopped when a bony hand encircled his wrist.

“ ‘m supposed to do that.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I _want_ to.” 

John was brought up sharp as he was practically tackled into the bed, straddled by all six-plus feet of the detective.  John laughed at Sherlock’s enthusiasm.

“You’re not supposed to laugh,” Sherlock said seriously, which only made John giggle harder.

“Sherlock, there’s no rules. Sex should be _fun._ ”

“Fun?”

“Oh come on, you know how to have fun.”

“But what if I get it… _wrong_?” he said the last word disdainfully, as if the idea of getting something wrong was the worst thing that could possibly happen to him. 

“Just think of it as an experiment. I’ll provide you with the data.” A look crossed Sherlock’s face that made John wonder if he had just said something very foolish. The younger man shifted down the bed, bringing his face to the level of John’s erection.

After a few moments passed, John finally managed to huff out, “You can touch it you know.”

“I merely wanted to obtain all possible data.  Through sight, touch and… taste.”

John whimpered, and Sherlock finally wrapped his long fingers around John’s cock.  The older man practically cried out in relief, the wait having made his arousal almost painful. 

“You can’t come yet,” Sherlock ordered, “I don’t have the data I want.”

“Well, you can gather more at another time,” John bit out, realizing his orgasm was much closer than he would have liked.   Licking his lips, Sherlock dipped he head to lap at the bead of pre-come from the tip of John’s cock. He rolled it around his mouth, seeming to savor the flavour. 

“Sherlock,” moaned John, dangerously close to the edge.  He threaded his hand through Sherlock’s curls, trying to convey his need to come. Sherlock guided John’s cock into his mouth, sucking gently. 

John’s orgasm exploded from his body. The edges of his vision went black as the endorphins flooded through him. He was almost embarrassed at how little stimulation it had taken, but he felt too bloody fantastic to really care. 

“How the hell did you learn how to do that?”

“I’ve read quite a bit on the subject over the last few days.  I have some other experiments I would like to try, as well.”

John smiled fondly; of _course_ Sherlock would have done research. He didn’t know why he expected anything else. 

“Can they wait until after I’ve slept for a bit?”

Sherlock pouted, “I suppose.”

“Good.  Come here.”  John pulled Sherlock up, resting the detective’s head on his chest.  “Go to sleep, love.”

The last thing John could remember was Sherlock purring as he ran his hand down the younger man’s back. 


	7. You and I (Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, many thanks to MrsNoggin for being an amazing and patient beta for this whole story. Chapter title taken from the song of the same title by Lady Gaga

John woke, climbing out of the fog of sleep slowly.  He was confused as to why he was not in his own bed before the events of the previous night crashed over him.  Stretching, he smiled. Knowing that Sherlock desired him was one of the best feelings he had experienced since, well, since Mary. And his love for Sherlock made his love for Mary pale in comparison.  This wasn’t a new revelation, but the freedom of allowing himself to love Sherlock brought his feelings out in force.

He realized he was alone in bed moments before he heard swearing from the flat.  Getting up, he found Sherlock’s dressing gown on the floor and slid into the garment.  It was much too long for him, but he didn’t care.  It was almost intimate, being wrapped in something of Sherlock’s. He stood in the door to Sherlock’s room, admiring the sight of a naked detective cooking breakfast for a moment before moving into the kitchen.

“Hello,” John said.

Sherlock turned around briefly, smiling shyly before turning back to the stove.

“What are you cooking?”

“Omelettes. And there was toast, but I burned it.”

Sherlock turned around, a plate in each hand.  Setting one down in front of John, they both picked up forks and tucked in. 

After a few moments of companionable silence, John spoke.  “So we’re doing this, then?”

“Eating breakfast? Yes, I believe so.”

“Don’t be daft. We’re going to do the domestic thing?”

“If you like.”

“No, don’t put this solely on me. This is a decision for both of us. Do you want to try?” The thought that Sherlock may not want a relationship left a lump of apprehension in John’s chest. The moment stretched as Sherlock thought, leaving John to imagine all sorts of horrible answers to the question before Sherlock’s face softened.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, not looking at John.

Relief poured through him. “Right, good.  Of course.” John wasn’t very good at discussing relationships, but he had to know where he stood with Sherlock.

“John. You need to know that I have no intention of letting you go.  Now that I’ve had a taste, I can’t go back to before.”  Sherlock said all of this without looking at him.

John reached out and gently grabbed Sherlock’s chin, gently forcing the detective to look at him.

“That’s good, because I have no intention of letting you go, either.”  He leaned in for a soft kiss.  “Come back to bed with me.”

His eyes lit up. “Yes. I want to finish those experiments.”

John just laughed and pulled Sherlock into the bedroom. 


End file.
